


A Yuletide Tribute

by Whisper91



Series: Festive Fics [2]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Eventual Smut, Human Sacrifice, Hurt/Comfort, Husband harry, Immortal Merlin, JB is a horse, Kidnapped Eggsy, M/M, Protective Knights, Protective Merlin, Soul Bond, Winter Solstice, Wizard Merlin, Wizards, Yuletide, merhartwin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-09 22:49:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8916187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisper91/pseuds/Whisper91
Summary: While journeying home one winter’s night, Eggsy is kidnapped by the elders of the Old Forest and offered up as a ritual sacrifice to an all-powerful sorcerer. Luckily for him, the wizard isn't quite the wrathful being that rumours would have him believe.





	1. Into The Woods

.

It’s his own fault, really.

His father had always warned him against travelling at night for this very reason, cautioned him as a too-curious child never to stray too far from the safety of their small village, spooked him with tales of folk who’d sometimes go missing in the woods, never to be seen again by a living soul. And there were always whispers about the powerful wizard who was rumoured to live there - the very last of the old Druids from the North, an ancient being older than the forest itself who wandered its dark and twisted paths searching for lost souls to capture. The notion had scared him enough as a child that he'd heeded his father's words, but as he grew older and more curious that fear had begun to fade, much to the man's exasperation.

 _“Evil thrives in the darkness, Eggsy,”_ the elder Unwin would remind him time and again whenever Eggsy voiced his doubts. _“All manner of monstrous creatures lurk in that forest, man and beast alike. You’d do well to steer clear of the trees after nightfall, my lad.”_

But the snow had fallen thick and heavy during the daylight hours, which had made his journey down from the high city a long one, and eventually he’d been forced to dismount in order to lead JB by the reins to avoid rendering the horse lame from a trip or a fall on the treacherous path. The slow pace had threatened to double the length of his journey home; and given that he’d promised his little sister that he would be there in time to celebrate Yuletide, he’d seen no other option than to press onwards into the woods even as night began to fall.

 _“It isn’t wise to enter the Old Forest after dark, boy,”_ a guardsman in the watchtower had called down to him as Eggsy paused outside the lower town’s main gate, swinging himself up into the saddle again. _“Why not take rest while you can, and continue your journey at daybreak?”_

Eggsy had thanked him for his concern, wished him Yuletide blessings, and urged JB onwards at a brisk trot. And _gods,_ doesn’t he feel the fool now? If only he’d chosen to heed the man’s advice.

All had been well at first, with nary a rabbit crossing their path, the woods quiet and utterly still, their journey unhindered. But that peace had been short-lived.

A half-dozen shadowed figures had set upon him deep within the forest, where no other soul would see him (nor hear his cries) as a he was dragged down from the saddle, JB giving a frightened whinny and spooking, hooves kicking up cold snow as he darted off up the path and out of sight. Then rough sackcloth had been pulled over his head to render him blind to the moonlit world around him, his hands tied with thin, coarse rope behind his back as he struggled against their unfaltering grip.

He’d put up a good fight, and finds a small measure of satisfaction in the knowledge that a number of his attackers will now be sporting painful bruises and scratch-marks, but his lack of cooperation had come at a price – a foul, bitter tonic had been poured into his mouth, and while he’d coughed and spluttered and tried to spit it out, what little he’d swallowed had sapped all the strength from his limbs and made him docile as a newborn babe, feet carving grooves into the snow as they dragged him away.

Which is how he’s come to find himself in his current predicament – bound to a large stone altar in the middle of a torch-lit clearing, blinking the heaviness from his eyelids as the tonic finally begins to wear off and he returns to his senses. And gods above, he’s bloody _freezing_ – his kidnappers have removed his overcoat and winter cloak, and the cold from the hard stone beneath him has quickly begun to seep through his thin tunic.

“Not too tight?” one of his captors asks, his voice deep and rumbling in a way that seems to hum through the very stone he’s tied to. Thick, strangely rough fingers fiddle with the ropes that keep Eggsy’s wrists secured above his head. “I do not want to bruise you.”

Admittedly, it’s his first time as a human sacrifice, but he doubts it’s common practice to ensure one’s victim is contented prior to killing them. Despite his residual grogginess, Eggsy has enough lingering intellect to shoot the man a _look,_ craning his neck around in order to do so, although the awkward position means it’s impossible to properly make out the hulking, shadowed form at the head of the table - other than the fact that he (it?) seems to be sprouting _leaves,_ of all things.

“A bit looser, then?” the burly figure surmises after a pause, and begins untying the knots.

“Leave them as they are, Mellowroot,” cautions another voice, lighter and clearer than the first. “I would rather not dose him a second time when he inevitably slips his bonds. Fellwisp already gave him far too much; we’re fortunate the child had the sense not to swallow.”

Turning his head quickly to seek out the new arrival, Eggsy’s breath catches in his throat, eyes widening a little, captivated by the sheer, ethereal beauty of the creature standing before him.

Tall and slenderly built, the newcomer moves across the clearing as though gliding along the ground, moonlight shining so brightly off his long, braided hair that it looks to be spun from gold. The burning torches cast dancing shadows against his pale face, and it might just be a trick of the light (or lasting effects from whatever potion they’d shoved down his throat), but Eggsy swears there’s a faint greyish-blue tinge to his skin that he’s never seen before on the face of any man.

“Who are you?” he asks, in a voice that trembles a little despite his best efforts to appear unafraid. “Where am I? Why did you bring me here?”

A faint smile curls at the young stranger’s mouth, and he reaches out to smooth Eggsy’s fringe back from his forehead with ice-cold fingers. The human shivers a little at the foreign touch, unable to tear his gaze away from the creature’s dark eyes.

“I’ve been told my given name is difficult to pronounce in the common tongue. But you may know me as Elim, High Priest of the woodland realm. And this,” he gestures to the clearing around them, “is our sacred place of prayer. It is here the Great Wizard comes to impart his knowledge and bestow his blessing upon those fortunate enough to have earned his favour. And it is here that we offer up tribute in thanks for his mercy and wisdom.”

“Wizard?” Eggsy echoes, brow creasing. “You mean that old Druid from the North?”

Elim looks pleasantly surprised at that. “You know your history, child,” he comments quietly, and nods in approval, petting Eggsy’s hair. “This is well. You will adapt and learn quickly, I'm certain of it.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” He tries to jerk his head away from the touch, pulling on the ropes, but his bonds are unforgiving and he only succeeds in chafing his wrists. “What do you _want_ with me?”

“So many questions,” his captor remarks softly with another flicker of a smile. “Good. A curious mind will please the Great Wizard. You are younger, it seems, than those who have come before you – but that in itself is a blessing. Your long years of servitude will bring him great happiness, and the forest will continue to thrive under his watchful protection.”

Eggsy doesn’t much like the sound of where this is going, and renews his efforts to slip his bonds.

“Look, you obviously care a lot about your trees,” he says, breathing coming out a little faster now as his heartbeat quickens. “An’ I get that, yeah? But you’ve got the wrong bloke, guv. I ain’t about to spend the rest of my life servin’ some random sorcerer – I’ve got a family waitin’ for me on the other side of the forest, I can’t just up an’ leave ‘em.”

Elim heaves a short, quiet sigh and bows his head. “Believe me, I would not do this had I any other choice – but we cannot waste time seeking out another who is better suited to the task. The moon has already reached its peak, I have but this hour alone to conduct the ceremony, or the spell will not hold.” Ice-cold lips press against his brow briefly. “Forgive me, child.”

The priest abruptly straightens, pulling a long knife from his belt. Before Eggsy can so much as draw in enough breath to cry out in fear, the blade has sliced through the front of his tunic from collar to navel, frigid air stirring his skin to gooseflesh beneath.

“Please,” he beseeches, a renewed feeling of alarm flaring to life within him as Elim takes up a wooden bowl of dark liquid and begins painting swirling runes onto Eggsy’s bare chest, the priest’s long, blue-tinted fingers gliding across the youth’s skin slowly as he mutters to himself. “Please, you don’t have to do this. There has to be another way!”

“Eighteen long years we have waited for a night such as this,” Elim replies calmly. “The spell does not hold unless the moon is full in the night sky on the eve of Yuletide – we have tried before, and failed. We cannot break our promise to the wizard – a tribute must be presented to him at midwinter, lest the forest feel his wrath.”

While Eggsy hadn’t exactly been keen on the whole ritual sacrifice thing beforehand, the notion of encountering this wrathful sorcerer (a being who apparently demands human lives in recompense for his protection) is an unsettling one. But the bitterly cold weather and lack of clothing are starting to affect him – already his limbs feel numb and leaden, his strength waning, exhaustion creeping in. He blinks hard to fight it off, determined to stay awake and alert in case the chance to escape arises.

The priest steps back after a period of time and surveys his handiwork, giving a short nod of approval.

 _“Aht’ansuhka,”_ he announces loudly. “The binding is complete.”

At the edge of the clearing, standing far enough behind the burning torches that Eggsy can only barely make out their misshapen forms, the other woodland folk beat at the ground rhythmically – although whether it’s with staffs or with their own feet (which for all Eggsy knows could be made of wood, given that half of them seem to be trees themselves) is any man’s guess.

“Oi, what binding?” Eggsy demands, and strains to peer down at his chest, but in the flickering light of the nearby torches he can’t make out much of anything. “Is this some sort of spell?”

Elim hums in acknowledgement, his face upturned towards the full moon high above them, his skin almost seeming to _glow_ for a moment.

“It is a bond of servitude,” the priest answers after a beat. “You will soon come to revere the Great Wizard as we do. His desires will be your own, his satisfaction your eternal joy – your souls will be intertwined until the fading of the world.”

“What?” Eggsy yelps, eyes wide and heart in his throat, but suddenly Elim is looming over him again, one hand braced against his collarbone, the cold tip of the knife pressed to his throat.

“I do not wish to harm you, child of man,” the priest murmurs. “But the runes on the altar will not awaken unless blood is spilled. Be still now. It will all be over soon, young one.”

There’s a stinging flare of pain at the base of his throat, and something hot and wet trickles down the side of his neck. He daren’t cry out or move an inch for fear of urging the blade deeper, knowing a cut but one hairsbreadth too far will end him in an instant – and he can’t die here, not like this, not bound and half-naked and helpless like a lamb at the slaughter.

A sudden sharp, intense heat pulses beneath his breastbone, and he gasps, limbs jerking reflexively against his bonds as he chokes on a silent scream, vision whiting out for a moment.

“There - it is done,” he hears Elim say, quiet and relieved. “The wizard will be here soon, my friends – come, we must leave this place.”

By the time he’s managed to catch his breath and blink his eyes back into focus, he’s alone in the clearing, with nought but the dancing flames of the torches for company. He can still sense blood trickling steadily from his wound, feel its warmth against his air-chilled skin, and renews his efforts to pull his wrists free from their bonds, gritting his teeth against the growing agony of his raw, chafed wrists.

The wind picks up, icy fingers clawing at his exposed skin as his teeth begin to chatter again, and he shakes his head sharply to stave off the pull of fatigue. He’s sensible enough to know that a man who falls asleep exposed to the elements like this will likely never wake up.

He can’t break his promise to Daisy, not at Yuletide. He _won’t._

Gods, he’s so tired. The air still bites at his skin, but his body is warming now, a heavy sort of heat that thrums through him from head to toe and pulses in time with his slowing heartbeat.

Perhaps…perhaps a moment’s rest won’t hurt.

The wind gives a sudden howl, batting at him fiercely and stealing the breath from his lungs, dragging him back from the brink of sleep. He’s able to force his aching eyelids open, but the clearing is darker now than it had been before, the torches extinguished by the icy breeze, and his blurred vision makes it even more difficult to tell the shadows apart.

But then one of the blurs _moves,_ a tall from that emerges from the treeline, pausing only briefly at the edge of the clearing before crossing over to him at a rapid pace. Eggsy tries to keep his eyes open, but his head aches from the effort, and he allows them to flutter shut once more.

“Dear gods…”

A pair of too-hot hands frame his face, the stranger’s warm skin an agonising burn against his icy cheeks. “I’m here, lad. Come on, stay with me. Don’t fall asleep.”

He’s too exhausted to even summon the strength to pull away from the man’s almost-painful touch, a soft moan escaping his lips when the ache in his chafed wrists flares back to life as the ropes are severed abruptly. But then a warm, heavy cloak is being thrown over him, sheltering his body from the merciless wind, and strong arms are lifting his boneless form from the stone altar.

“I have you,” the low, strangely accented voice murmurs in his ear, as Eggsy’s head slumps against the man’s shoulder tiredly. “We’ll be out of this storm in a moment, lad, just hold on a wee bit longer.”

The wind roars to life again, but it lacks the chilling bite it had carried before, and instead acts as a gentle caress to Eggsy’s icy cheeks and teases at his hair. He can’t make out any other sounds amid the storm, but finds he doesn’t much care – his rescuer could be a murderer and he’d still gladly go with him; anything to be free of his binds with the promise of shelter in the near future.

It’s impossible to say how long he’s carried for – the passage of time is a groggy, painful blur and he’s fairly sure he drifts in and out of consciousness more than once. Were he more in his right mind, he might have pondered at the lack of jostling (or indeed movement of any kind) that would be expected when being carried in another’s arms, but he’s too tired think upon it for more than half a moment, a fleeting thought that’s quickly lost amid the swirling confusion of his fatigued mind.

It’s the echoing groan of wooden doors being opened that stirs him abruptly from his half-doze, and the wave of warm air that hits him a moment later is a welcoming sensation. He blinks hard, trying to lift his head from the man’s shoulder to peer at his surroundings, but finds he lacks the strength to do even that.

“Blankets!” the man calls, the words spoken softly but carried ahead by a reverberating echo. “Quickly!”

There’s the sound of several pairs of booted feet approaching rapidly, then a sharp intake of breath.

“Heavens, Merlin, he’s only a lad...”

“-half frozen, just look at him!”

“-warned you Elim wouldn’t listen, that pointy-eared tree hugger’s far too set in his ways-”

“I need blankets,” his rescuer reiterates, louder now, in a slightly firmer tone of voice. Eggsy is jostled just a little as the man strides past the newcomers, someone bumping against his dangling feet as they move to match his pace. “Takara root from the stores. Hot water. _Harry._  Bors, fetch my kit, we don’t have much time before it takes hold.”

“Yes, Merlin.”

Merlin? There’s something about the name that sounds vaguely familiar, but he can’t quite place it. Warmth flares in his chest at the sound of it, though, and despite his growing exhaustion, his cracked lips twitch upwards in a faint smile.

 _Merlin._  Mmm. It’s a comforting name, that.

He drifts off again soon thereafter, too tired to resist the pressing weight of his eyelids and the buzzing warmth in his limbs, despite his growing curiosity regarding his valiant rescuer. It’s only a light sort of doze, and he’s vaguely aware of being gently laid to rest upon something wonderfully soft, the quiet pop-and-crackle of a nearby fire drowning out the rhythmic pulsing in his ears, soft voices murmuring in the background, hands touching his face and neck, a warm cloth bathing his chest in faintly sweet-smelling water…

Then his fingers and toes begin to thaw out, feeling returning to them like a thousand vicious bee-stings, and Eggsy willingly stops fighting his exhaustion and welcomes the painless embrace of sleep.

 

.

 

_TBC_

 

* * *

 

_For more festive-themed fics, see my current[collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8803060/chapters/20182405). And feel free to hit me up on [Tumblr.](http://wh1sper91.tumblr.com/) xxx_


	2. Recovery

.

 

 

When Eggsy startles awake, it’s to a growing sense of panic cloying thick and urgent in his throat, an icy sort of ache pulsing beneath his breastbone as his breathing grows shallow and rapid. He jerks upright, pushing himself up onto his elbows, struggling against the heavy pelts piled on top of him, and stares wide-eyed at his wholly unfamiliar surroundings.

“Slowly now,” a gentle voice cautions from nearby, and he glances up in time to see a tall figure rising from a chair near the fireplace and moving swiftly to Eggsy’s side, sinking down to one knee beside the makeshift pallet of rugs and thick furs to rest a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve had quite an eventful evening, my boy. Give yourself time to come around.”

“Where-” Eggsy stutters, struggling to catch his breath as a curious chill sinks deeper into his chest. “Where am I? What’s goin’ on?”

The man gives him a soft, reassuring smile and squeezes his shoulder. “You’re among friends, Eggsy. Be at ease.”

The youth blinks at him, startled anew, and takes a moment to study the man’s handsome but unfamiliar features. He’s fairly certain he would recall meeting such a beauty had they previously been acquainted, but his mind feels foggy and sluggish, and he cannot trust his memory at present.

“You know me, Sir?” he asks, hesitant.

“Harry,” the man corrects his honorific gently. “And we spoke only a short while ago, lad. You were still feeling a little under the weather at the time, I’m not surprised that our conversation slipped your mind.” The man reaches for something out of sight, and there comes the sound of pouring liquid before Harry turns back around to offer him a steaming cup. “Here, drink this.”

Eggsy accepts the cup gladly, handling it with care, conscious of the faint trembling in his fingers. He wouldn’t want to risk spilling the tea – or worse, breaking the cup should it slip from his weakened grip. He’s only seen such finely crafted pottery in the High City, gracing the tables of lords and earls and folk of great wealth. It must be worth a full month’s wages at least, and as scribe to a generous master, Eggsy often gets paid more handsomely than most in his position. Even so, he could scarcely afford to replace such an item, especially with winter already upon them.

Still, the brew’s faintly herbal scent is inviting, and he’s eager for anything that might serve to thaw him out from the inside, where it feels as though icy vines are weaving themselves around his ribcage.

He glances back up at the man curiously. “What is it?”

“Takara root tea.” Harry shifts to settle himself more comfortably on the hearth rug, and Eggsy is distracted from his own internal discomfort by the man’s long, slender legs, clad so fashionably in well-fitting breeches cut from a fine, dark cloth that compliments the light blue of his tunic. “The taste may not be to your liking, but Merlin believes it will clear your head a little, and he’s seldom wrong about such matters.”

A vague sort of familiarity stirs his addled mind from its slumber, and a single, pulsing flare of heat in his chest brings his head up sharply, the ice in his heart seeming to thaw by a fraction.

That _name._ He knows it, he’s certain he does. But he can’t put it to a face for the life of him.

“Merlin?” he echoes, hands cradling the heated ceramic carefully as he takes a tentative sip. It isn’t overly sweet, nor too bitter, and carries a richness to it that he finds palatable enough. He’s grateful for the warmth, regardless of the taste.

“The lord and master of this house,” Harry answers. “He was the one who found you and brought you here.”

Eggsy’s gaze settles on the intricate raised pattern on the surface of the cup, his thumb tracing the detail absently as he tries to push past the thick fog in his mind, to recall even the slightest detail that might help to explain his presence here.

“If he rescued me, I’m grateful,” he answers quietly after a long pause. “But I’m afraid I can’t…I mean, I don’t really…”

“You don’t remember,” the older man finishes for him, his tone sympathetic. “I know. You’ve only been at rest a few hours, lad. You have a long while yet until dawn breaks – you needn’t rush yourself. There’s time yet to sleep, and to heal.” Harry nods towards the cup. “Drink up. You’ll feel better in the morning, my boy.”

Eggsy nods in acquiescence, his body too tired and his mind too muddled to protest, and drains the rest of his tea quickly, handing the empty cup back to Harry with a hand that no longer trembles.

“Rest now,” Harry murmurs, and tugs the warm pelts and soft blankets back over him as he lays back down again. “All will be well.”

The warmth from the tea seeps further into his flesh, and he falls into a dreamless slumber.

 

 

 

 

… … … … … … … …

 

 

 

 

Eggsy wakes to the quiet hum of a wordless song.

He keeps his eyes closed at first, soothed by the humming despite already knowing it belongs neither to his father nor his master. There’s an icy chill deep within him that trembles with every indrawn breath, but there’s something about the stranger’s quiet song that calms that instinctual pulse of fear and uncertainty.

Finally, turning his head towards the sound and struggling to push himself up onto his elbows, he blinks his eyes open, fighting against the tempting pull of his residual fatigue. The room is darkened now, the fire in the nearby hearth reduced to nought but charred wood and glowing embers, but among the dark, angular shapes of the furniture, he sees a shadow move, and the humming cuts off abruptly.

The youth mourns its loss; for without the song, the ice within him seems to take a stronger hold, creeping up his throat and into his lungs, startling a sharp gasp from him as he clutches a hand to his sternum.

“Eggsy?”

The tall shadow is a across the room in the flutter a single heartbeat, and by the fading light of the dying fire Eggsy can just about make out a strong jaw and a pair of piercing eyes set within a handsome face. Their eyes lock for a fleeting moment, and his chest _aches_ fiercely, the question on the tip of his tongue quickly turning into a quiet moan of pain.

“I’m here,” the stranger murmurs, his voice low and strangely accented, and Eggsy suddenly recalls where he heard it before – above the howling of the wind, and with the bite of cold stone pressing up against his back.

Oh _gods._ That woodland priest had tried to _sacrifice_ him; he’d been left bound and helpless and utterly alone, doomed to meet his death either at the jaws of a hungry beast or frozen like a rabbit left dangling overnight in a snare. If he hadn’t been rescued…

Eggsy trembles a little, a fierce chill sweeping through him all at once, and doesn’t put up so much as a single iota of resistance when strong hands carefully guide him to lay back down again.

“It’ll pass quickly,” the man promises, and settles a large, warm hand over Eggsy’s brow. “Breathe with me, _ansuhka._ ”

His own hand is lifted carefully, large fingers cradling his wrist as the appendage is drawn up from the pallet, urged to settle palm-downwards against the man’s chest. The stranger’s tunic is of a soft woollen material, but thin enough that Eggsy can feel the strength of defined muscle that lies beneath it, flexing with every steady rise-and-fall.

It’s only then that he takes stock of his own condition, and realises how fast and shallow his breathing has become. Making a conscious effort to obey that low, soothing, _hypnotic_ voice, he forces himself to breathe deeper and slower than before, seeking to match the other’s steady pace.

“Aye, that’s the way,” the stranger praises softly, fingers carding through his hair. “Easy now. I’m here, lad.”

Warmth pulses deep within his chest at the words, thawing out the chill entirely. Eggsy’s next breath comes out as a quiet sigh, and he tilts up into the soothing touch on some sort of deep-rooted instinct. And suddenly he realises how he _knows_ this man, why he’s known him all along, almost as intuitively as he knows his own name.

His lips twitch upwards into a sleepy sort of smile. “Merlin.”

The man pauses only briefly before his fingers resume their gentle caress. Eggsy’s eyelids begin to droop, weighted down with fatigue, but he fights against the pull of sleep, determined to thank the man who saved him from an unthinkable fate.

“Hush now” Merlin quiets him, resting one of his large hands atop the blankets that cover Eggsy’s chest, and the youth can feel the soothing heat from his skin even through the layers. “We’ll talk more in the morning, boyo.”

The fingers in his hair gently smooth his fringe back from his brow, and soft lips press against the skin there lingeringly, triggering a renewed feeling of warmth both inside and out.

“Sleep,” the man urges quietly, and Eggsy does.

 

 

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than I would've liked, but work kept me busy today.  
> Merry Christmas, all! <3 Let me know what you think. <3


	3. Myth and Legend

 

.

“You’re that sorcerer Elim was talkin’ about, aren’t you?”

Merlin’s fingers pause where they’ve been gently wrapping a fresh cloth bandage around his chafed wrist, before resuming their work again a moment later as the wizard inclines his head.

“I am.”

Eggsy takes a gulp of his too-hot tea in an attempt to quell the growing tightness creeping into his throat. He’d known it to be true the moment dawn had broken and he’d awoken with a clear head. He hadn’t been left alone for very long, but the brief period of solitude had granted him enough time to puzzle over last night’s yet-unanswered questions. Why had Merlin been so deep in the forest on midwinter’s eve? How had he found Eggsy in the middle of a blizzard, when the altar and the clearing were so far from the path? How had they escaped the storm so quickly? Why did the deep gash on his neck feel near-healed, when last night it had bled so profusely?

All the evidence had pointed towards the obvious answer, and in truth, verbal confirmation that Merlin is indeed the Great Wizard of legend almost comes as a relief – otherwise Eggsy might have driven himself mad puzzling over it all.

But then again, the knowledge that he’s sitting there drinking tea in the hidden lair of the old sorcerer himself is a little daunting, even if the man before him lacks the white beard and crooked back and bitter surliness that some of the more common folk tales have attributed to him in recent years.

“I’ll understand if you’re angry at me being here,” Merlin says after a short pause, his voice low and calming. “You have every right to feel upset about happened to you in the forest last night. And if you’d rather share the company of another, I’ll call for Harry, and you needn’t see my face again. All I ask is that you allow yourself time to fully heal before leaving the castle.”

Eggsy’s silent for a long moment, and allows Merlin to slide the cup of takara root tea from his lax grip and set it aside on the nearby tray so that his other wrist can be tended to. To be honest, he doesn’t know _how_ he feels right now. Confused? Very. Overwhelmed? Definitely. That’s more than enough to deal with right now, grief and anger can come later.

“Why?” he manages eventually, his voice faintly tremulous. “Why would you demand a human sacrifice in the first place?”

“I made no such demands.”

“But the priest said-”

Merlin’s expression twitches, a brief flare of anger flitting across his features for a split second before vanishing. Then he heaves a deep, weary sigh.

“The woodland realm has been under my protection since the forest first came to be,” the wizard explains, dabbing a cold, green-tinted paste over the healing rope burns on Eggsy’s wrist. “Long ago, I erected the Gathering Stone to provide the elders of the forest with a means to contact me for aid or advice in times of strife. At the end of each year, they began to laden it with tribute on the eve of the winter solstice, as a token of gratitude to honour their protector.”

The wizard reaches for another strip of cloth to wrap his wounds. “At first I found pleasure the simple offerings - plants and herbs, berries and wreaths, wooden carvings and sacred stones from the moon pools. An age passed in happiness, and for a time the land was at peace.”

Eggsy glances up from his bandaged wrist when the silence lingers, something within him clenching painfully at the raw look of grief on the other’s face.

“What happened?”

“War,” the wizard answers, his gaze faraway and his eyes bearing the shadows of darker days. “The greed of one man had born into the world a great evil, one whose power surpassed even that of the Druids. My people were being slaughtered, and darkness was once again threatening the borders of our great Kingdom. I was called away to protect the sacred lands of my fallen kin.

In my absence, the woodland realm suffered greatly – a long winter starved the animals and drove away bird and beast alike. Then, when the dry season came, a great fire swept through the forest and destroyed the elder trees. Those who survived lived in fear, convinced that their forefathers had somehow angered me and brought destruction down upon themselves.”

Merlin closes his eyes, as though the memory pains him still. “They did not know me as their elders had once done – had never spoken to me in person, or walked the forest paths with me. They relied heavily on the old tales passed down from their forebears, stories that held more myth than truth, for the elders were once renowned for exaggeration. Driven by fear of a wrathful creator whom they had never met, the forest spirits grew desperate. For years, I had rejected their Yuletide offerings, and they took that as a sign that I was dissatisfied with gifts from within the forest itself. That’s when they formed the foolish notion of offering me live tribute.” He heaves another weary sigh. “To exist alone is a foreign concept to the woodland folk – tree spirits are surrounded by hundreds of their kin, from the second they are born into this world to the moment they leave it – and I believe they hoped that by offering up a child of man to serve me and act as a companion, my reign of terror would cease.”

Oh gods. _“A tribute must be presented to him at midwinter, lest the forest feel his wrath” –_ that’s what Elim had said to him.

“There have been others before me,” Eggsy realises, his voice hushed. “Haven’t there?”

Merlin lifts his gaze to meet the youth’s at last, and Eggsy is taken aback by the sheer _agony_ of guilt he can see in the man’s eyes.

“Far too many,” the wizard confirms. “I ought to have shown definitive action that first winter, but I never thought the atrocity would dare be repeated. I had not considered the fact that a human sacrifice had been the first Yuletide tribute to have successfully drawn me back from the borderlands in almost half a century. You see, I had designed the Gathering Stone to alert me to the presence of any who were injured or near death, and the forest spirits knew only a creature of flesh and blood could awaken that old magic. The moment the first drop of blood hit the runes, I felt a pull from across the Kingdom, and rushed to answer their cry of help. I returned home to my forest after decades of war  and darkness, only to discover just how twisted my own lands had become in my absence.”

The man looks so deeply hurt by the recollection that Eggsy’s own heart _aches_ for him, and he tugs his wrist gently out of Merlin’s gentle grip to squeeze the wizard’s his hand tightly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he insists quietly. “The woodland folk were the ones who erred, not you.”

Merlin glances down at their joined hands and some of the tension eases from his posture, but he shakes his head ever so slightly at the youth’s words.

“Even if I didn’t bind that man to the altar with my own hands, I sentenced others to the same fate the moment I bore him away without a single word of condemnation to those who had wronged him. I was so _angry_ with them, so hurt and disappointed, and I feared what that anger might unleash upon the forest if I lingered there. So I retrieved my tribute and took him back home to heal his wounds.”

Eggsy swallows again, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “He was first tribute you’d accepted in half a century,” he realises. “And with you back home from the borderlands…”

The wizard nods solemnly. “The seasons improved. The trees flourished. Life and light returned to the forest once again.” He heaves another short, weary sigh. “And the High Priest got it into his fool head that the only tribute worthy of a sorcerer’s protection was a human offered up in a bond of servitude.”

“A bond of…” Eggsy trails off, eyes widening as ice stabs at his heart, pressing a hand against his bare chest beneath the blankets he’s bundled up in. “The spell! They drew these runes all over me, said it was gonna bind me to you forever an’-”

Merlin covers the hand with his own, and warmth flares to life in his chest, settling his fears immediately even as warning bells sound in the back of his head because _that can’t be normal._

“I’ve been weaving magic for a long time, Eggsy,” the wizard murmurs reassuringly. “I wouldn’t be much use as a sorcerer if I couldn’t out-cast my own creations. The priest’s enchantment won’t last.”

Eggsy takes a steadying breath, heart fluttering rapidly within him as the warmth spreads further, and the sudden urge to hold Merlin’s hand to his chest and never let it go is both confusing and alarming.

“Then why do I feel so strange?”

“The spell was cast by the light of a full moon,” Merlin answers regretfully, reaching up to brush Eggsy’s fringe back from his brow to examine the healing cut near his hairline. “It will remain upon you until midwinter has passed, but while you may experience a few lingering effects, my own magic should keep its influence at bay.”

“Lingering effects,” the youth echoes, momentarily captivated by the wizard’s piercing blue eyes. “I…I think I can cope with that.”

“Still,” Merlin adds after a beat, and leans back again (how long had they been seated so close together?), quickly gathering his healing supplies back into his satchel. “It’s probably for the best if I keep my distance for the time being, lad. Harry will be along shortly; should you need anything, he’ll attend to you.”

The cooled mug of tea is pressed back into his hand, and after a quick tap to the rim and a muttered word, the liquid begins steaming again.

“Drink your tea, _ansuhka,_ ” the wizard tells him gently. “It’ll help to ease the symptoms.”

Eggsy isn’t sure what that particular word means – he’s heard it before, last night when his body had been wracked with chills and phantom aches – but it has an immediate effect on his body, sapping the tension from his limbs and triggering a wave of warmth and contentment that passes through him, coaxing his lips into a quiet smile against his will as Merlin stands and heads towards the door.

“Can I see you again, before I leave?” he asks, because he _needs_ to.

Merlin pauses at the threshold to glance back at him, studying him for a brief moment before nodding ever so slightly. “As you wish.”

 

 

 

 

… … … … … … … …

 

 

 

 

He sets down his empty bowl with a _thunk,_ eyes wide in disbelief.

“No way,” he protests. “Ninety-seven? You barely look older than my father!”

Bors laughs, a hearty sound that echoes around the spacious dining room, his head thrown back and the chair tilting precariously with the force of it.

Harry Hart sighs softly (and, Eggsy suspects, fondly), reaching over without looking up from his parchment to steady the back of the chair before it can overbalance. “Do be careful, dear.”

“ _Ninety-seven,_ ” Eggsy repeats. “How’s that even possible?”

“Oh, I like this one, Galahad,” Bors says, as the front legs of his chair thunk back down again. He shoots Eggsy an easy grin and a wink that belies his apparent dotage. “How is anything else around here made possible, lad? Through _magic.”_

“Give it a few years, Eggsy,” says the man seated on Bors’ other side, offering him the plate of sweet pastries again. “You’ll eventually just stop asking ‘how’. The answer’s usually ‘Merlin’.”

“Gawain,” Harry chides, his tone just a tad sharper, and lowers his letter to level the man with a _look._ “Eggsy hasn’t yet made the decision to stay.”

“I know, I know,” the younger man says with a cheerfully dismissive sort of air. “But when he _does-_ ”

“Ignore him, lad,” Elyan advises, setting a warm, dark-skinned hand on Eggsy’s shoulder and smiling down at him. “That’s what the rest of us do.”

Gawain’s eyes narrow fractionally, and his hand drifts towards a nearby pitcher of milk.

“Not at the table,” Harry warns, back to reading his letter again. “If you’re going to make a mess, take it outside. Better still, why not go hunting? I do believe I was promised venison for supper.”

 “Oh, if we must,” Bors sighs, feigning an air of reluctance even as he stands and moves to lean over the back of Harry’s chair, arms draped casually over the man’s shoulders as he peers down at the letter. “Is Tristan making his usual excuses?”

“The western isles have named him emperor,” Harry reminds him. “He can’t very well disappear without a trace just to visit us for Yuletide; the nation has only in recent months made peace with the coastal cities. He has rather a lot on his plate, poor love.”

Gawain huffs quietly. “Serves him right for meddling in politics. He’s all boring and serious nowadays.”

“You’d do well to take a leaf out of Tristan’s book and pay more attention to the politics of your own lands,” Elyan comments. “Wasn’t it only last month that your poor manners almost caused a war between two of your clans?”

“They’re centaurs,” Gawain replies flatly. “They’re short-tempered at the best of times; barely a week goes by without one clan threatening to start a war against another. It’s a good thing they’re typically a non-violent species or there’d be none left by now. Although that reminds me, I have an extensive selection of truly _spectacular_ insults to share with you all at supper.”

“Always the highlight of my year,” Bors says cheerfully, and shoots Eggsy a grin. “Aside from the drinking, of course.”

Harry sighs again and folds his letter. “You were going hunting, beloved _._ ”

“Yes, dear.” Bors presses a kiss to the man’s cheek and heads for the door, ruffling Eggsy’s hair as he moves past his seat and throwing an arm around Elyan to drag the younger man along with him. “Come on. You too, Gawain. And fetch your skates – the water nymphs were in a good mood when I stopped by the lake yesterday, they shouldn’t try to drown you this year.”

Once the door has closed behind the three of them, Eggsy takes a big breath to steady himself. He likes the men well enough, but every word they’d uttered had only served to baffle him more, and his mind is reeling somewhat with a hundred curious questions about their lives. Centaurs? Emperors? Water nymphs? It’s a dozen different folk tales come to life all at once, and Eggsy’s work as a scribe to an elderly scholar in the High City suddenly seems very dull in comparison.

“Sorry about that,” Harry says, smiling at him kindly. “Gawain means well, but he’s always had rather a bad habit of putting his foot in it.” He gestures to the remaining dishes on the table. “Would you like anything else to eat?”

“No, ta, I probably shouldn’t,” Eggsy declines, but his eyes flicker back to the plate of sweet pastries, and with knowing sort of look, Harry passes one over to him. He smiles, cheeks heating a tad, and accepts it gratefully. “Thank you.”

It’s just as delicious as the first two had been, crisp and warm and full of sweet stewed apple and dried currants. He ought to be full to bursting by now after a full bowl of porridge and three pastries, but there’s still a gnawing sort of emptiness in his stomach, and he’s rather beginning to suspect it has less to do with hunger and more to do with the magic that lingers upon him.

“Here.” Harry leans over to refill his cup from the steaming teapot that only Eggsy has touched. “Drink your tea, lad. It’ll help.”

The youth sips at it, grateful for its warmth, and eyes Harry closely. “How did you know?”

“I was in the same position, once,” the man confesses, and tilts his chin a little to the side, tugging down on the collar of his tunic so that Eggsy can see the thin, white scar that cuts across the hollow of his throat. “Those of us who were taken on a full moon can all remember that hollow chill, the way it gnawed at you; like a constant hunger that could never be sated. Tristan made himself sick eating his way through a whole bushel of apples before he’d agree to try the tea.”

“Doesn’t smell all that great, to be fair,” Eggsy points out, taking a sip. “Tastes alright, though. Well, it doesn’t really taste much like _anything_ , but I like it well enough.”

“Good.” Harry dutifully pours a little more into his cup. “That means it’s working. Once the enchantment has been fully broken, you won’t want to touch the stuff – it tastes _foul._ ”

Eggsy gives his cup a dubious look, but after a moment’s deliberation dismisses what his nose keeps telling him and drinks it anyway. The brew seems to grow a tad sweeter with every cup, and he’s even begun to enjoy it now. It’s a pity it isn’t palatable to those not under the influence of a spell – his mother would’ve loved to add a new leaf to her herb garden.

“That being said, Merlin’s made several changes to the preparation of takara roots over the years,” Harry muses. “It’s been a while since I last tried it.”

With a smile, Eggsy moves the cup in his direction, and Harry laughs softly as he lifts a hand to decline the offer.

“Not long enough to have forgotten the last sip I took,” the man reassures. “I’ll not likely forget that experience for quite some time.”

“You’ve been here a while, then?” Eggsy asks, then blushes when he realises how it sounds. “Sorry, that was- you don’t have to answer that.”

Harry laughs again, a light and easy sound, and pats Eggsy’s hand gently where it rests on the table. “No offence taken, poppet. I was only thirty-two when the High Priest took me, but that was a little under a century ago.”

Eggsy’s brain is still struggling to accept the notion that cheerful, youthful Harry Hart is almost twice the age of some of the elders from his village, but there’s something else about the situation that bothers him.

“You’ve been here for almost a hundred years,” he reiterates. “But…if Merlin broke the priest’s spell an’ freed you, why did you stay? Why didn’t you go home?”  

Harry smiles at him faintly. “Back to the High City? Back to bureaucracy and politics and shaking hands with people I disliked every day?” He shakes his head. “My old life had become so dreadfully dull before I encountered Merlin. And you’ve met our dear wizard – he’s a kind soul, with a caring and generous spirit. After tolerating the cold, detached civility of the noble class for more than thirty years, being around Merlin was a breath of fresh air, and the castle soon became more of a home to me than I’d ever known back in the city. And I suppose I’ve always harboured a somewhat adventurous spirit – when Merlin offered to show me the great Kingdom and beyond, what reason had I to say no?”

Eggsy can think of three very important reasons to turn down such an offer, and guilt twists in his chest at the knowledge that Daisy and his parents will likely be sitting down to breakfast at this very moment. He hopes his mother isn’t worrying about him too much; that his father won’t have any daft ideas about going into the forest to look for him; that his sister won’t be too upset about him missing the Yuletide celebrations.

He can’t dwell on that thought for long – there’s nothing much he can do about it now, and getting himself all worked up is only going to make him feel rotten. He pushes his guilt aside and refocuses his attention on Harry.

“Bors and Gawain and Elyan – they were all tributes too, weren’t they?” At Harry’s nod, he ploughs on. “I don’t get it. Merlin seems like a proper decent bloke; how can he stand by and just let the forest take people like that? Why doesn’t he put a stop to it?”

Harry sighs grimly. “It’s not for lack of trying, believe me. Every year he treads the forest paths, seeking out the woodland folk. But none have truly ever known him, not the way the Elder trees once did; they revere him and fear him in equal measure. None have the courage to stand in his presence, and no matter how fervently he begs the eaves to stop sending him tribute, a new sacrifice is made every time a full moon falls near midwinter.”

“But he’s the Great Wizard,” Eggsy presses. “Can’t he just…take away their magic, or something?”

“A gift, once given, cannot be taken away,” Harry replies softly. “It can only be destroyed. And for all their faults, the woodland folk are his own creation – his children. He could no sooner harm them than he could harm you or I.” The man sighs again. “He did try to take the Gathering Stone from the sacred clearing, once. But the spirits simply took their tribute deeper into the forest to perform the ritual. Without the blood runes to summon him thither, it took Merlin all night to find them, and the tribute perished in the cold.”

Eggsy swallows, remembering the bitter chill of the snow, the biting wind nipping at his bare chest. _Gods,_ that could’ve been him.

“After that, Merlin dared not interfere further,” the man continues. “Instead, he dedicated his time to perfecting the counter-spell and brewing potions that would break the enchantment within a single day, so that those who were offered up in tribute could resume their normal lives quickly and without further suffering. Many have passed through these halls since then; those who have stayed behind have done so of their own volition, not due to any lingering magic. Bors, Gawain, Elyan and many others have all come to call this castle their home, just as I have.”

The youth nods slowly, taking that in. “They spoke of such…such queer things; centaurs and water nymphs and far-off lands. Who _were_ they before the forest took them?”

“They were men, just like you and I,” Harry answers, refilling his cup again. “Bors was a knight, on his way to the southern Kingdom to swear his fealty to King Mallory. Elyan was the son of a merchant from the eastern isles whose curiosity about the woodland spirits got the better of him. Gawain…” Here he smiles a little and shakes his head. “Gawain was a blacksmith who got himself piss-blind drunk; he entered the forest on a dare. And Tristan, bless him, was only a stable boy, searching the woods for the horse he’d mistakenly set loose.”

“An’ now Tristan’s an emperor? How on earth did that come about?” Eggsy asks, insatiably curious. “And how did Gawain end up workin’ with _centaurs?_ I didn’t even know that was a viable occupation.”

Harry gives another slight shrug, as though a stable boy ruling the western isles is perfectly commonplace. “After Merlin and I had travelled the world once or twice, I was more than content to live out the rest of my days as his companion – his library alone will likely occupy me for several centuries – but the others didn’t necessarily feel the same way. Bors grew restless after only a few months; he’d already sworn his sword to the wizard’s service, so in return Merlin gifted him with a little of his own magic and tasked him to guard the hidden valleys where the fae live. Elyan still found woodland spirits fascinating even after being captured by Elim, so he was named peacekeeper of the enchanted woods, south of the Crooked Mountain. And Gawain, well, he’s always been stubborn and a tad short-tempered, but he can speak his mind eloquently in an argument, which made him an excellent candidate for mediating confrontations between the centaur clans of the eastern plains.”

“An’ Tristan?” Eggsy presses after a beat of silence, leaning forwards a little in his chair, having been hanging on every word. “What did Merlin give to him?”

“A horse.” Harry’s mouth curls up in another smile at Eggsy’s look of disbelief. “No, truly, that’s all the lad wanted. Well, that and a map of the four Kingdoms. He was young, without a master for the first time in his life, and as keen to explore the world as I had once been. He would come home every Yuletide to visit us, a little older and far wiser, and within a short span of twelve years had somehow persuaded the western isles to make peace with the mainland after countless decades of animosity and mistrust. He was named emperor for his own achievements, not through any work of magic.”

Eggsy gives a soft laugh and shakes his head, dropping his gaze to his cup. “Hope you’re not expectin’ me to do somethin’ extraordinary with my life. I’m not interested in becomin’ a king or nothin’, I’m just a scribe from the High City.”

“A scribe?” Harry echoes, with obvious interest. “Then you must have apprenticed in the central library.” At the boy’s nod, he leans in closer. “What sort of books do you enjoy reading?”

“Oh, anythin’ really,” Eggsy admits with a small shrug. “History, poetry, philosophy - an’ I love stories. I’m under the employ of one of the senior scholars, an’ we’ve spent the past few years documentin’ traditional folk tales and songs for the city archives. It’s takin’ a lot of doin’ – we’ve got that many letters from different towns all tryin’ to make sure we don’t forget about this or that tale. There’s a lot of conflictin’ accounts, though – none of ‘em seem to agree on how the stories end.”

Harry’s eyes light up. “I know Merlin has several tomes where he’s written down various myths and songs that he’s learned during his many years of travel. I’ll ask him about them later – I’m sure he’d be more than happy to let you read them.”

“For real? That’d be _brill._ Thanks, guv. _”_

“Not at all. And perhaps there’ll even be a tale or two that you could share with us,” Harry suggests. “It’s been a few decades since we last travelled beyond the borders of our Kingdom, and it’s said that legends are born every day in one corner of the world or another; we would both enjoy hearing a new story, if you have one.”

Eggsy can’t help but think of his family at that; of the tales and songs he’d put to memory so that he could share them around the hearth at Yuletide. His sister did so much enjoy a good story, and his mother would soon know a new song by heart, and hum it to herself as she went about her day. It’s the thought of this that has kept him going despite his homesickness during the long months he’s spent in the High City, and he can’t help but feel a little despondent at the prospect of remaining here while his family celebrates Yuletide without him.

“Merlin won’t expect me to stay forever, will he?”

Harry shakes his head. “He won’t ask anything of you, lad. Once the spell is broken, you can be on your way home, if that is what you truly wish. But our door will always be open to you.”

Eggsy takes a moment to think over his words, before hedging, “Would you ever leave? I know it’s been a long time, but would you ever go back home to the High City, to work in the library or the archives?”

“The castle _is_ my home, poppet,” the older man answers softly. “And Merlin is my companion. I could never bear to leave behind the one I love, not for all the books in the world.”

Ah, there it is. Eggsy had long since begun to suspect as much, but it’s something else to hear it confirmed.

“Bors and the others who chose to stay, are they also Merlin’s…companions?”

Harry smiles a little. “In a manner of speaking. They’ve all chosen to dedicate their lives to his work – to share in his duty as protectors of the realm, and watch over the sacred places of the world as his appointed guardians, so that Merlin needn’t abandon his forest again. They all care for him dearly, that much I can say with certainty. But love comes in many forms, and the bond Merlin shares with each of us differs from person to person. Its only real consistency is that it seems to have granted us all longevity.”

“Wait,” Eggsy says, an uneasy sort of feeling stirring within him. “Wait, is that going to happen to me? Am I still gonna look like this in fifty years?”

Shaking his head quickly, Harry settles a gentle hand atop Eggsy’s. “No, darling, of course not,” he reassures. “Love works both ways, and a bridge must be forged from both sides of the river if it’s to meet in the middle. I’m certain Merlin would grant you long life in a heartbeat, should you ask him, but he would not bestow it upon you against your will.”

“Oh. Good.”

Eggsy calms quickly, although he isn’t sure why he’d gotten himself all worked up in the first place. Realistically, there are worse things in life than looking twenty summers old for all eternity. It would be no great sacrifice to spend his days going on adventures, and lose himself in the written word by night.

As a matter of fact…the more he thinks about it, the more appealing a notion it becomes. It certainly couldn’t hurt to take a tour of the castle, could it?

“This library of yours?” he says after a long pause. “Do you think it would be alright if I had a little look?”

Harry’s lips quirk up in another quiet smile. “I was rather hoping you’d ask me that.”

 

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story keeps writing itself additional chapters, my muse is wistfully recalling its bygone Narnia days, and I promise this fic will stop growing soon. Hopefully. 
> 
> Also Merlin is my sweet cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure. *shakes fist* Damn you, Elim! You broke your father's heart! (I may be a little too emotionally invested in the salvation of fictional tree spirits now, gdi.)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! And a Happy New Year to you all. :) <3 xxxx


	4. Where The Heart Is

.

 

 

 

 

“JB!” Eggsy crows delightedly and breaks into a run, ignoring the lingering soreness in his overtired muscles. “Oh my _days,_ I thought you’d run away for good this time!”

The bay horse whinnies in greeting, lowering his head over the rope that stretches across the opening to the spacious stall and butting up against the youth’s chest as Eggsy wraps his arms around the beast’s neck.

“JB?” Harry echoes curiously, coming to stand at his elbow, stroking a gentle hand over the horse’s withers.

“Just Bonkers.” Eggsy flashes him a wry grin, and shrugs. “My uncle named him; raised him from a foal to work in the fields, but he was a bit wild in his youth, kept causing more harm than good, so my uncle gave him to me. Took a while to train him proper, an’ he’s still a bit flighty when he gets spooked, but you couldn’t ask for a tamer horse.” He rubs between JB’s pricked-up ears to ruffle the forelock. “Gave me a right good scare, you did, runnin’ off like that. Daft old thing.”

JB nickers affectionately and noses at Eggsy’s borrowed tunic. The dark green fabric is soft and warm, a far finer garment than anything he could hope to afford for himself even with a generous master, but it fits him snugly and serves its purpose far better than his own torn tunic, which he fears is damaged beyond repair thanks to Elim’s knife.

“How’d he manage find his way here?” Eggsy asks, glancing up from JB after a short while.

Harry, having procured a brush from somewhere, ducks gracefully beneath the rope that spans the stall opening and begins to groom JB’s bay coat back to its usual glossy shine.

“Merlin went out to fetch him earlier this morning,” the man answers. “He thought a familiar face might help to ease your stay here in the castle.”

Eggsy falls silent at that, leaning in to rest his cheek against JB’s larger one, a hand idly stroking the horse’s long, smooth neck. It seems Merlin’s been going to out of his way make Eggsy feel welcomed here; granting him unrestricted access to the castle, lending him fine clothes, showing him the many journals and ledgers where the wizard himself has documented the folk tales and songs he’d learned over the years. And now he’s gone and rescued JB from the dark depths of the vast forest and brought him safely back to Eggsy.

It’s almost enough to make him feel _guilty_ about being so homesick for his family.

He can’t help it, though – despite the many wonders and curiosities held within the castle walls, nothing has served to effectively keep him from thoughts of his sister, his mother, his father. Knowing that the three of them will be thinking of him in turn, distracted from their Yuletude celebrations by their concern for his safety and wellbeing…gods, he can barely stand it. He only hopes his father doesn’t decide to head out into the forest looking for him. Eggsy can see him now, pacing slowly back and forth in front of the hearth, kitted out in his guardsman’s uniform with his sword strapped to his hip, the worried crease in his brow growing ever deeper as the daylight begins to fade. He can picture his mother twisting her apron between her hands as she’s wont to do when she’s fretful, forcing a smile for Daisy's sake when his sister asks what’s keeping him.

The icy ache in his chest flares suddenly back to life again, and he sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, hand moving to rub at his sternum through the fabric of his tunic. Harry’s watchful gaze tracks the movement, a look of understanding in his eyes as he sets the grooming brush aside and ducks back under the rope to stand beside him.

“You’ve had an eventful morning, dear boy,” he sympathises, settling a warm, longer-fingered hand on Eggsy’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “Why don’t I fetch us both a spot of lunch? And another pot of takara root tea will do you the world of good. Will you be alright on your own for a short while?”

The youth manages the briefest flicker of a grateful smile.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassures, although his tone falls a little flat. “Got JB for company, don’t I?”

Harry regards him a moment longer before nodding once, squeezing his shoulder again, and departing swiftly from the stables, his booted feet echoing as he sets off down the adjoining stonework corridor.

Eggsy sighs, hand rubbing idly at his chest as the inner chill persists. JB butts against him with a quiet nicker, ears twitching uncertainly, lipping at the sleeve of his tunic.

“I’m fine,” he reiterates softly, firmly, more to himself than to the horse. He wraps his arms around JB’s neck both for warmth and comfort, cheek resting against the smooth bay coat. “We’ll be home in a couple of days, just as soon as this bloody spell wears off _._ ”

His eyes drift over to where someone has set aside his saddle and tack with care on a nearby mounting stand. His throat tightens at the sight of the bulging saddlebags, at the reminder of the carefully-wrapped presents inside.

For _months_ he’s skimped and saved his wages, spent weeks carefully choosing the right gift for each family member, negotiating with merchants and craftsman to ensure that the bought items were of the best quality he could afford. He’d even taken out a temporary loan from the smithies for the beautifully crafted dagger he’d bought for his father, having fallen a halfpenny short of the agreed-upon price. For his mother he’d bought several lengths of good blue cloth for dressmaking; forget-me-nots had ever been her favourite flower, and the pale hue matches her eyes. And for his sister he’d bought a carved wooden spinning-top, and a beautiful doll with a painted face (a gift, the toymaker had assured him, that every young girl in the High City would covet). And he’d _so_ been looking forward to seeing her face light up when she unwrapped it.

It’s a daft thing to get upset about, in light of what he’s been through recently. But he’s tired, and his bones ache, and he’s _cold,_ and there’s really nothing he can do to stop his eyes from stinging wetly.

He scrubs at them angrily with the sleeve of his tunic, then sniffs a tremulous smile when JB tries to help by nuzzling at his cheek with soft, velvety lips.

“M’alright,” he croaks, and rests his brow against JB’s with a shaky sigh. “I’m just bein’ daft. C’mere, let’s get that coat brushed out. Looks like you went galloping through a bramble patch again.”

He retrieves the grooming brush and spends the next few minutes diligently working it over JB’s flanks, deliberately keeping his gaze from straying to the saddlebags mounted on the stand in the corner of the stall. The cold ache in his chest doesn’t abate, that fierce longing for something _more_ gnawing at his insides distractingly, and soon enough it becomes too much to contend with and he drops the brush with a heavy sigh, slumping down to sit on the low wooden grooming stool in near the edge of the stall, dropping his head into his hands.

He wants to go _home._

“You’re unhappy here,” a familiar voice murmurs quietly. “Aren’t you, lad?”

Eggsy glances up so fast it makes his neck twinge, his heartbeat quickening when he sees Merlin standing only a few feet away from him, leaning against the wall of the stall. JB nickers happily in greeting, turning his massive head towards the wizard, butting up against his dark purple overcoat until Merlin obligingly pets him.

“I’m fine,” Eggsy reassures, but it sounds unconvincing even to his own ears.

Merlin’s fathomless gaze locks with his own briefly, pinning him in place, and any previous attempt at denial no longer matters because he can _tell_ that the wizard knows everything he’s been hiding just in that one moment.

The Druid’s posture sags visibly, and he exhales a slow, tired sigh, closing his eyes and abruptly severing that connection. Eggsy is left feeling flushed and a tad out of breath, a growing warmth now pulsing in his chest where the hollow longing had resided only moments before.

“It’s your family, isn’t it?” Merlin concludes softly, and his eyes remain closed. “You miss them.”

Eggsy swallows past the peculiar feeling brimming in his throat. “It’s not that I don’t like it here,” he insists plaintively. “The castle’s incredible, an’ you an’ Harry an’ the others have all been so good to me. It’s just…I made a promise, you see, to my younger sister. Swore I’d be home in time to celebrate Yuletide with her, no matter what. Never broken a promise in my life, an’ it…it just doesn’t sit right with me.”

He rubs absently at his sternum where that pulsing heat is growing hotter, his gaze dropping to the hay-strewn floor. “I know it ain’t safe for me to leave the castle while the enchantment’s still workin’, I get that – but it doesn’t make it any easier, me bein’ here instead of back home with my family.”

Merlin’s hand settles on the back of his neck, squeezing ever so gently, and Eggsy leans into the contact without really thinking about it, a part of him seeking out the tactile comfort on instinct.

“There may yet be a way,” the wizard says after a beat. “A way to get you home to your family before the moon has waned. But it isn’t entirely without risk.”

Eggsy glances up at him again, eyes wide and full of hope, and surges to his feet, his previous fatigue forgotten.

“If it’ll get me home, I’m willing to give it a try,” he insists. “No matter what the cost.”

Merlin regards him a moment longer, a sad sort of smile curling at the corner of his mouth, before he reaches under his collar and withdraws a glimmering silver pendant on a long, delicate chain from beneath the fabric of his tunic. The silver is woven like rope in a spiralling pattern around the edge of the pendant, intricate runes etched into the surface of the circular plate with a large green gemstone set in the very centre. The jewel itself seems to glow with a light of its own, and Eggsy doesn’t need to be an expert in precious stones to know that there will be no other jewel like it in all four Kingdoms.

“I do not entrust this to you lightly, lad,” Merlin tells him, carefully placing the silver chain around Eggsy’s neck and tucking the pendant beneath his tunic out of sight. “In the wrong hands, the power contained within this gemstone could summon into the world a great evil, one which even I could not defeat.”

Alarmed, Eggsy’s fingers hover over where the pendant rests against his chest, the metal warm from Merlin’s skin, sending a curious sort of heat rippling through him from that point of contact.

“Why?” he asks. “What is it?”

Merlin reaches out to press his own hand against the jewel. “A part of me,” the wizard answers. “The beating heart of all that I am.”

Eggsy’s eyes widen. “What?” He shakes his head quickly, and begins removing the pendant from around his neck. “You can’t give me your _heart,_ Merlin, for fuck’s sake-”

The Druid stills his actions with a gentle touch, carefully loosening Eggsy’s fingers from around the silver chain, guiding his hands down to clasp between his own.

“Yours was offered to me against your will,” Merlin replies evenly. “To freely offer you mine in return is the least I can do.” He smiles then, still with that strange, sad sort of look in his eyes that makes Eggsy’s stomach clench uneasily. “But willing or not, our hearts are bound together, _ansuhka._ Until the full moon wanes, you have the ability to carry my heart with you beyond the forest, and my protection with it.”

The wizard lifts a hand to cup Eggsy’s jaw then, and the brimming _something_ in his chest turns to liquid fire which ripples through him from head to toe. He can’t tear his gaze away, wouldn’t want to even if he had the strength – gods, they’re as green as the gemstone around his neck, he could stare into their fathomless depths for an eternity and be content.

“I’ve failed to safeguard you within the walls of my castle,” Merlin murmurs, his thumb stroking tenderly along Eggsy’s cheekbone, “and my heart can no longer bear to see you so unhappy. So go now, with my blessing – the magic held within that stone will keep Elim’s enchantment from taking hold. When the moon has fully waned, the binding spell shall at last be broken, and the pendant will return itself to me.”

Eggsy can scarcely find the words to form an adequate response. He’s grateful – good _gods_ is he grateful – but to be offered such power so freely and without prior expectations is all a little overwhelming.

“But…but what about you?” he manages after a beat. “Your magic, won’t you need it?”

Merlin smiles a little at that, a fond sort of look that fills Eggsy with warmth. “Within the stone may lie a vast well of power,” he answers, “but I am not entirely defenceless without it, if that’s what you fear, lad.”

He snaps the fingers of his other hand then, and JB snorts loudly beside them, shifting from foot to foot, ears twitching. Eggsy turns his head enough to glance at the horse, only for his mouth to fall open a little in surprise at the sight of the beast now fully saddled and tacked up, the leather saddlebags secured in place.

“You must promise me one thing,” the wizard continues as though he hasn’t just performed a feat of unparalleled magic without even blinking. “No matter what happens, you mustn’t remove the pendant until the new moon has risen – not even for the briefest moment. And you must keep it _hidden –_ for you own safety as well as mine.”

Eggsy nods quickly. “I will, I promise.”

He presses his hand against the jewel again, clutching it to his chest as that overwhelming urge for _more_ wells up inside him again. Despite longing to be home with his family, there’s a part of him in mourning at the prospect of leaving this place behind, of leaving _Merlin._ He feels like he’s been torn two ways, caught at a crossroads, and for a moment he truly can’t decide which way to turn.

Merlin shrugs the long, dark cloak from around his own shoulders and fastens it carefully about Eggsy’s throat. “Do not seek to find your own path through the forest,” he cautions. “It will try to deceive you and lead you back here to me. Ride hard, and let the wind be your guide – it will show you the way out.”

Smoothing out the fabric over his shoulders several times, Merlin then cups Eggsy’s face between both hands, his expression now utterly serious.

“Should you ever be in need of aid, call for me, and I will come,” he murmurs. “Even after the spell has been broken, you will ever be a part of me, and the doors of my home will always be open to you.”

Eggsy doesn’t know why he does it, whether it’s the overwhelming gratitude that words simply can’t do justice, or the brimming sense of _hunger_ that’s rapidly swelling in his chest the longer Merlin holds his gaze, but a shuddering breath later he’s leaning in to press his lips to the wizard’s, who stills against him at the action.

The kiss should’ve been over within the span of a few seconds when the sensible part of Eggsy’s mind finally caught up to what his body was doing, but before he can pull back, the hand on his cheek curls around to cup over the back of his neck and draw him in closer, and suddenly Merlin is kissing him _back_ with equal passion and fervour.

There’s a sense of _rightness_ that pulses hot and bright within him at the contact, the gnawing hunger finally sated as he curls his fingers into the fabric of Merlin’s soft overcoat and parts his lips willingly to deepen the kiss. This is _everything_ he wants or could ever want in life – what had he been thinking, trying to leave the castle a few moments ago? Nothing on this good earth will ever satisfy him like this. He has everything he needs right here…

“No.”

The word is gasped against his lips, breathless and a tad hoarse but firm, finite.

Eggsy blinks, a little dazed, when Merlin’s warmth is suddenly gone from in front of him, the wizard having taken several steps back to put a little distance between them. The Druid presses the back of his hand to his mouth as he leans against the stable wall, breathing heavily, eyes closing briefly, and Eggsy’s heart aches with how fiercely he wants to go to him, to put a stop to this unsettling separation.

“No,” Merlin repeats, a little more in control, and straightens slowly. “What you’re feeling at present, that passion between us, is merely a symptom of Elim’s enchantment. Forgive me - I should’ve put a stop to it sooner. You caught me by surprise.”

With a little more distance between them, and the physical contact severed, Eggsy’s head is clearing slowly, and embarrassment at his impulsiveness brings heat to his cheeks. But before he can so much as open his mouth to apologise, Merlin has strode forward, and in a show of truly colossal strength has swept Eggsy up and into JB’s saddle as though he weighs no more than a sack of meal.

“Go now, lad,” the wizard urges, and with a wave of his hand the rope that spans the front of the stall turns to hay and falls to the floor. “Your family awaits you.”  
  
“Thank you,” Eggsy manages, his throat feeling strangely tight as he gently nudges JB forward.

Merlin follows them out of the stall, then moves ahead of them to stand in the wide corridor of the spacious stables. With a graceful, sweeping gesture of his arm and a muttered word, the far wall at the end of the corridor collapses in on itself, stone and wood and metal braziers crumbling to dust and swirling towards them on the howling wind in a shower of ice-cold snowflakes that make Eggsy grateful for the thick winter cloak fastened about his throat.

“Do not trust your eyes,” Merlin reminds him, his voice quiet but somehow carrying above the whipping wind, one hand resting on JB’s neck to calm the horse and another on Eggsy’s knee. “Ride on, and the wind will carry you home.”

Eggsy nods, hands tightening around the reins, but still he can’t bring himself to leave.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he finds himself saying, because the thought of being parted from the wizard indefinitely physically pains him at present, spell or no spell. “I’ll come back to you, I promise.”

Merlin smiles at that, but it’s equal parts pained and sad, as though he’s heard such promises in the past to no avail. The wizard reaches up to squeeze his hand, his touch lingering for several long beats before he seems to physically wrench himself away, taking two steps back to give Eggsy a clear path.

“Go,” he urges again. “Be safe, _ansuhka.”_

As Eggsy nudges JB into a smooth canter and rides out into the storm, he makes a mental note to ask Merlin about the meaning of that name when he next returns.

 

.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter and the epilogue to go! I think. I hope. (To be honest, my muse might be lying to me right now, but that is the current plan. :P )
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it <3 xxx


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